


In Sickness and in Health

by Schwoozie



Series: And Baby Makes Four [3]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Baby Fic, F/M, Illnesses, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 17:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwoozie/pseuds/Schwoozie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beth hates feeling useless, especially when it comes to her child; but that's exactly what she is when her fever hits the hundreds. With Rick at work and Beth incapacitated, it's up to Daryl to rise to the occasion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sickness and in Health

**Author's Note:**

> Yes yes yes another one :)
> 
> Thanks to Mary for beta'ing <3

Beth was a sickly child. It doesn't surprise many people to learn it, looking at her now. Pale skin, bird bones, wrists so delicate it looks like a stiff breeze could shatter them—the kind of woman looks like she should be wrapped in cotton wool, protected. Even her clean bill of health for the past 15 years—nothing worse than a cold for over a decade—doesn't serve to disabuse people of that notion.

That's why her current state—curled up on the sofa beneath every blanket they own, shivering violently, staring blearily at Rick and Daryl as Daryl frowns at the thermometer he had just taken from her mouth—well.

It fucking blows.

“103,” Rick says, looking over Daryl's shoulder to see the display.

“I feel more like negative 103,” Beth says through chattering teeth, smiling weakly. The men ignore her attempt at a joke, and she lets her face fall.

“You think we should take her to the hospital?” Daryl asks.

Rick rubs the back of his neck, looking down at Beth where she lies weakly before them. “Carl's gotten up to 102 before; Motrin usually broke it in a few hours. We should try that first, before spending money on the emergency room.”

Daryl nods, bringing up a hand to chew on his thumbnail. It's a habit Beth and Rick have nearly gotten him to break; it's a sign of his distress that he's resorting to it now.

“We should have some—“

A piercing cry cuts Rick off, and he doesn't hesitate before striding into the other room, already making little shushing noises. Daryl stands helplessly before the sofa, looking between Beth and the room Rick had vanished into and chewing his thumb.

Rick comes out a few moments later, holding their four month old baby to his shoulder. The sound of her whimpers sends a shard through Beth's heart.

“Is she alright?” Beth croaks, limbs shaking as she struggles to sit up. Daryl practically lunges forward to press her back down. It takes barely a brush of his hand to make her collapse again. He crouches in front of her, keeping a hand on her shoulder.

“You gotta rest, girl, Rick's got her.”

“But if she's hungry—“

“We have formula,” Daryl says, meeting Rick's eyes as Rick takes the baby to the kitchen. “You can't hold her anyway, Beth, you'd get her sick.”

Beth sniffles, ashamed to feel tears building in her eyes. “I hate this,” she mumbles, throat choked.

“I know, girl, I know,” Daryl murmurs, stroking her hair back from her sweaty forehead. “Won't be long though; Rick said only a few hours, yeah? Just gotta get through it.”

“I hate it,” Beth whispers again. Her eyes track Rick as he emerges from the kitchen, holding Annie with one arm as she sucks voraciously at her bottle.

He comes to a stop before them. He's clutching a pill bottle in his fingers, which he tosses to Daryl with a flick of his wrist.

“One of those should do it,” he says, rocking Annie a little as she suckles. Daryl shakes out a pill and slides onto the sofa by Beth's head. His large hands are deceptively gentle as they help her into a vertical position, gripping her tighter as she slumps against him, not even bothering to move her own face when it smushes painfully against his shoulder.

“Girl, c'mon,” Daryl murmurs, leaning forward to grab the half-full glass of water on the table. “You gotta help me, I can't do this by myself.”

“Now he admits it,” Rick jokes. Daryl rolls his eyes, shooting him a look that makes it clear he'd be flipping him off if he had his hands free. Beth doesn't have the energy to smile, but she hopes Rick can read the gratitude in her expression.

“C'mon,” Daryl says again, setting the pill on her tongue and holding the glass to her mouth. She whimpers a little at the pain in her throat as she swallows, but eventually she gets it down, and Daryl lets her collapse against him again.

“Thanks,” she says.

“Yeah,” Daryl says, setting the glass on the table and sitting up to rub her back.

Annie's finished her bottle and sits quietly in Rick's arms, observing the scene with big blue eyes. _Just like her mama's_ , the men always say; avoiding the fact that their eyes are blue as well, that  Annie’s might look like one or the other's. And they do; but it isn't something the three of them talk about. She might have been made by one man, but she belongs to both of them.

Beth realizes that they've spent several minutes here, sitting and standing quietly, watching Annie lean her head on Rick's shoulder and begin sucking on her thumb. Rick meets Beth's eyes and smiles; Daryl presses a kiss to her sweaty forehead, holding her tighter.

“It's gonna be ok, girl,” he whispers.

Rick’s smile widens. He's opening his mouth to say something when his ringtone goes off from the kitchen table.

Beth feels Daryl stiffen as Rick makes as if to hand Annie off to him; Rick pauses, judging Daryl's expression, before bringing Annie with him to get the phone.

“It's ok,” Beth says, fighting through the stiffness in her neck to seek Daryl's eyes. He's scowling at the floor, and refuses to look at her even as she leans into him more heavily. “Daryl—“

“You're sick. Don't worry about me.”

“You know we don't think badly of you for it, right? You just gotta take your time.”

Daryl shrugs, looking at Beth through his lanky hair. “I'm her dad, ain't I? Shouldn't be fucking scared of taking care of her.”

“You'll get there,” Beth says, rubbing his arm. Daryl's lips twitch, and he leans forward to kiss her forehead again. “Don't do that, I'm all gross,” Beth says, even as her lips turn up.

“You're disgusting,” Daryl says, squeezing her gently.

Beth starts to giggle, but it turns into coughs, great heaving barks that leave her bent practically across Daryl's lap.

She's finally gotten herself down to a hoarse wheezing when Rick comes back, looking troubled.

Daryl squints at Rick's furrowed brow, picking up on his changed mood instantly. “What's wrong?”

“Someone found a dead body by the river,” Rick says.

“We know them?” Daryl asks.

Rick shakes his head. “John Doe, so far; been floating too long to be easily identifiable. Haven't been any missing persons around here matching his description; probably drifted from upstream a ways.”

“You have to go in?” Beth asks.

Rick nods. “I tried to tell Shane you were sick–“

Daryl snorts. “Bastard wouldn't care if she were giving birth again.”

Rick frowns at him, but doesn't comment. He hefts the baby up higher in his arms, shushing her when she fusses. “I can put Annie down, but then I gotta go. I'm sorry, Beth.”

Beth shakes her head where it lies against Daryl's shoulder, mustering the energy for a small smile. “That's why I got two of you, ain't it? There's always a backup.”

Daryl snorts, pinching her arm through the blankets, light enough that she can barely feel it.

“You keep sassing me like that, I might get to thinking you ain't so sick after all.”

“It's a reflex,” Beth says, the last word breaking into a wheeze as she starts to cough again.

Rick walks to the bedroom as she's coughing, leaving Daryl to rub her back and press kisses into her hair. No matter how weak she feels, how disgusting, part of her still swoons at the gentle way he's handling her; so different from the man she met those years ago.

And yet—and yet. She knows he's always had it in him; knows it's the strongest part of him to survive a lifetime of others trying to chase it away. And as he uses a tissue to mop up the snot dribbling from her nose, she can't help a few tears from trickling from her eyes too.

“You're alright, girl.”

“No, I—I know,” she says through her thickened throat. She leans against him, rolling against his shoulder to see his face, scruff standing proudly on his chin, eyes tight and concerned. “I just. Daryl. Daryl, I love you so much.”

He makes the same grimace he always does when she says something like that, like he's expecting her to take it back. She doesn't comment on his reluctance, this time. The strength of it, after all, has been waning for a long time.

“A'right, girl. You rest now.”

Beth gazes at him a moment longer, then lowers her head back to his shoulder, letting out a croaking sigh. His body presses painfully on her sore arm, and she knows her back would be more comfortable lying down—but she can't find the will to move.

A few things penetrate her drifting mind. Rick singing quietly to Annie in the bedroom, the only way she'll fall asleep. Daryl's hand continuing to rub her back, a soothing, steady rhythm. Rick coming in to tell them Annie is down for the night, reassuring Daryl that she should sleep until he returns. Rick's scratchy kiss against her forehead, a brief caress. Daryl's strong arms lifting her with ease, carrying her to the bedroom as the front door swings shut. Annie murmuring in her sleep, the light going dim, the dip of the bed as Daryl slides in beside her. The way he doesn't hesitate to wrap himself around her, despite her body drenched in sweat, despite the very real threat that he will get sick too.

She is still shivering. But with Daryl against her, their baby breathing quietly in the background—she isn't so cold anymore.

* * *

Beth wakes up and feels like someone's dropped the equator on top of her.

She nearly gags at the suffocating heat of the blankets wrapped around her, and begins kicking violently, thrashing around until she can fling the layers away and lie, panting and soaked in her kitty cat pajamas. She looks at the clock on the bedside table and sees it's almost 4:00am, just a few hours after she fell asleep. With what feels like a broken fever, Beth thinks that Rick was right about the Motrin after all.

The room is dark, but even before her eyes adjust she can tell that she's alone in the bed. Rick must still be on call, she thinks; and Daryl has insomnia most nights when they don't fuck it out of him, so she isn't surprised to see the flickering light of the TV through the cracked bedroom door.

What does surprise her is sitting up and finding the crib in the corner empty.

The spike of panic shoots painfully through Beth's gut as she looks ineffectively at the floor. Annie is too little to climb out of the crib on her own; she checks the window and finds it locked just as they left it, but she doesn't know—

It takes Beth several moments to hear it over the pounding of her heart, and when she does she freezes, cocks her head, and drifts towards the bedroom door.

She knows from the rough cadence that it's Daryl's voice, but it's in a tone she doesn't know if she's heard before—something soft, open, like the inside of a fleece-lined blanket.

She can see him when she peeks through the door, illuminated by the light of the muted TV. He's standing in the middle of the living room in his t-shirt and boxers, swaying slightly, and in his arms—

—and in his arms is Annie. Clasped securely, with his arms supporting her head, like he's done it a million times before.

After the shock of witnessing his ease subsides, Beth realizes that he's still speaking.

“—know you don't wanna sleep, but your mama's sick; she can't have you crying all night.” Annie babbles softly, and Daryl shushes her, bringing her closer to his face and rocking her gently. “Yeah, you want your mama, huh? Or your other daddy? Ain't used to me, I know. But I still love ya. I know you know it.” Annie whimpers and Daryl leans down, kissing her forehead. “Want me to sing, huh?” he asks, a smile playing across his lips. “Ain't gonna be good at it, I'm warning you now. You have to promise you'll go to sleep right after, though, alright? Can you do that?”

Annie sighs, and the soft smile continues to play across Daryl's face. Beth leans against the doorway, resting her cheek on the wood, as Daryl begins to sing.

_Amazing grace, how sweet the sound_   
_That saved a wretch like me._   
_I once was lost, but now am found;_   
_Was blind, but now I see._

_’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,_   
_And grace my fears relieved;_   
_How precious did that grace appear_   
_The hour I first believed._

_Through many dangers, toils and snares,_   
_I have already come;_   
_’Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,_   
_And grace will lead me home._

Daryl's voice fades from the room and Beth gasps softly, a tear rolling across her upper lip and into her mouth. It's a sign of how engrossed he is that Daryl doesn't hear her; just continues to gaze at their child, held safely in his arms.

“Sorry bout that,” he murmurs. “Know I don't got a voice like your mama, but you seemed to like it fine, huh? Got you to sleep, at least.”

Daryl stands there several moments longer, looking down at Annie with something indefinable on his face. It reminds Beth of how he looked at them when she breastfed for the first time—hope and fear and awe and love so strong he seemed fit to collapse with it. But he doesn't collapse. He stands strong, baby secure in his arms, as he turns and finds Beth in the doorway.

He tenses, but it takes him only moments to relax. He doesn't say anything; just looks down at Annie, then walks forward. Beth steps away from the door to let him pass, watching in silence as he lowers their child into her crib. When he finishes, he nods towards the living room, and Beth leads the way.

She settles onto the couch, hugging her legs to her chest as Daryl shuts off the muted TV, plunging them into darkness. The only light comes from the window where it looks down on the streetlamps. Daryl comes clearer and clearer to her as he approaches, and by the time he settles at her side she can see him practically plain as day. She resists the urge to snuggle into him, staying sat against the armrest.

“Feeling better?” Daryl asks, voice back to its usual rough drawl.

Beth nods, smiling at him. “Much,” she says. “Think I ruined the sheets sweating all over them, though.”

Daryl smirks, leaning against his own armrest and peering at her through the dark. “Needed to wash them anyway; how many times've we had sex on them?”

Beth giggles, giving Daryl her best flirty eyes. “Not enough, I'd say, Mr. Dixon.”

Daryl chuckles. “Fix that soon as you're better; bet your ass we will.”

“I expected nothing less.” Beth looks at Daryl, and slowly lets the smile slip from her face. He must notice the change in her affect, for his face straightens too, falling into something a little guilty. “Where'd you learn that song?” Beth asks softly.

Daryl shrugs. He begins to pick at a thread on his t-shirt, avoiding her gaze.

“My mama sang it to me,” he says. “Even when I was older, those times after Pop would... ya know. She'd hold me and sing that. It was nice.”

“Really nice,” Beth says. “It's one of my favorites.” She rests her chin on her knees, looking at Daryl seriously. “It was real good to see you holding her. Looked right.”

Even in the dark, Beth can see the way Daryl blushes when he glances up at her. She feels the urge to touch him—grasp his hand, rub his shoulder, kiss his cheek—but she holds off. She can tell he's working up to say something and she doesn't want to do anything to make him lose his nerve.

“I wasn't lying,” he says. “Not really. Don't feel right, holding her unless I have to. Y'all have more right to her—“

“Daryl—“

“Lemme say this, ok?” Beth falls silent instantly. It's a sign of how distressed Daryl is that he would interrupt her like that. “Y'all do. I know I... I know it ain't my fault, the dad I had. And I know I ain't him. Y'all taught me that.” He smiles briefly before his face falls again. “I just always feel like... maybe y'all were wrong, you know? I'll hurt her, or you'll realize what a shit dad I am, and it'll... all just fall apart.” Daryl scrubs angrily at his face, and Beth does move to touch him now; uncurling herself and scooting close enough that she can sink her fingers into his hair, massage his scalp as he gets himself under control. “It's alright when it's just me'n her,” he says through a thick throat. “Cause... shit, Beth, she's all I've wanted. My whole life, this little... thing...”

He trails off, mouth gaping, at a loss for words. After a few moments he turns to her, pressing his temple against her wrist. “I know you're gonna say I'm ridiculous,” he says quietly.

“You are,” Beth replies. She smiles, tugging lightly on his hair. “You're a ridiculous, ridiculous man, and I love you so much. Rick loves you so much. And Annie does too. And we'll all love you more and more each day till we die of it.” Beth smoothes a thumb across Daryl's brow. “I've never seen anything more beautiful than you holding her,” she says softly. “Holding her, and singing... You were made for this, Daryl.” He snorts, and she grips his hair to the edge of pain. “You were,” she says. “You were made to be a good dad, just like yours was made to be a bad one.” Beth leans forward to press her forehead to his, breathe his breath. “I don't make the rules,” she says.

Daryl sighs, his eyes closing as he relaxes into her. “I'm dumb, huh?”

“The dumbest,” Beth whispers, and leans forward to kiss him.

Just before she gets there a frog leaps into her throat and she lunges away, coughing madly while Daryl holds her upright. By the time she's finished there are tears standing out in her eyes and mucous bubbling in her throat.

“Dangit, I thought that was over,” she says, sitting back into Daryl and gasping.

“Sorry, babe,” he says, nipping her ear. She swats him away, and he laughs deep in his chest.

When he's sobered, Beth turns to look at him.

“You're gonna put Annie to bed from now on,” she says. He tenses up, but she places a finger on his lips before he can reply. “Nuh-uh. No arguments. You need to practice. It'll be good for both of you.”

There is still fear in his eyes, but Daryl smirks through it, kissing her finger. It is just his lips, but Beth's skin still tingles when he touches it. If she weren't likely to start hacking up a lung in the middle of it, she would jump him right here.

“A'right, girl. I'll do that.”

“Good,” Beth says. Finally, she allows herself to fully snuggle into him, tucking her head under his chin. She reaches out to grab the remote, switching the TV back on. She sees what's on and makes a face. “ _Pawn Stars_ again, Daryl? Really.”

He shrugs, relaxing back against the sofa. “It's got good history.”

“Mmhmm.” Beth slings her arm across his waist, sighing when he takes hold of her hand. “Long as it ain't one I've seen.”

They settle together, in the wash of TV light. Their eyes droop, their muscles relax. By the time Rick comes home at dawn, they're both fast asleep, propped up against each other, loose and somnolent.

Beth's cheek teeters precariously on Daryl's shoulder. Daryl snores loudly, head tipped back, a drop of drool sliding down his chin. Rick stands over them for a few minutes, smiling at his lovers. Ridiculous. His.

In the end, he leaves them be. For no matter how sloppily they sleep—their hands never once move from clasping the other's.

 


End file.
